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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



JEAN RIVARD 



BY 

JOSEPH EDWARD LANOUETTE 




THE CORNHILL COMPANY 

BOSTON 



*>$* 



Copyright, 1919, by 
The Cornhill Company 

All Rights Reserved 



EB 13 



©CU559730 










JEAN RIVARD 



DEDICATION 



To all fathers whose sons served in the world's greatest 



war 



CONTENTS 



PART ONE 

The Three Page 1 to 7 

PART TWO 

The Two Page 8 to 16 

PART THREE 

Phillip, the Scholar and Soldier Page 17 to 22 

PART FOUR 

Jean and the "Stranger" Page 23 to 36 

PART FIVE 

Jean, the Soldier Page 37 to 42 

The Hindu, and the Crusader Sword 

PART SIX 

The Tale the Hindu Told Page 43 to 50 

PART SEVEN 
Death of the Hindu Page 51 to 56 

PART EIGHT 

The Croix de Guerre Page 57 to 61 



(Continued on next page) 



CONTENTS— (Continued ) 

PART NINE 

'Tis Reveille and another day Page 63 to 73 

What Jean heard in the trenches 
Jean with Phillip in the hospital 

PART TEN 

Just a slip of a lad Page 75 to 93 

The Great Battle 

Jean, Phillip and the Devil 

The duel between Phillip and the Devil 

Death of Jean 



JEAN RIVARD 



PART ONE 

The Three 



JEAN RIVARD 



Listen now to this tale 

You who think to know all, 
And a legend of old 

It perhaps may recall. 
But this simply tells 

Of a father's great love 
Which caused him to turn 

From his Maker above, 
And while none can vouch 

For its strict verity, 
I now tell you the tale 

As was once told to me. 

Jean Rivard was his name, a most plain simple man, 
(Who unknown might have died ere the world war began.) 
With his four-footed friends, who his lonely life cheered, 
In the newly cleared land had a small cottage reared. 
Which in time, to Jean long, did the good fairies bless, 
Who sent to Jean's cottage the light-hearted Jess, 
The hard toil became play, Jean did care to wind fling, 
Counted not upon what the next morrow might bring. 

Contrasting were they, these two, so well mated, 
Only Heaven could have such a marriage created, 
Ever kissing her neck was the light^waving gold, 

3 



4 JEAN RIVARD 

The laughing blue eyes, and red lips never cold, 
A well-rounded form., a hand for work ready, 
The foot that oftimes was to music unsteady, 
All in all, such as one has perhaps seldom seen, 
Was the Jess that the fairies had sent to her Jean. 

In the field around Jean are the bobolinks singing, 
But sweeter by far are the summer winds bringing 
The ne'er delayed call to the meal well prepared, 
Served daintily by her who his cottage now shared; 
Then would Jean rest awhile, of work never thinking, 
But one day of all days sat till sun was low sinking, 
As with her on his knee did his dear one enfold, 
With her head on his breast, was the great secret told. 

Jean's bit-champing friend and the cud-chewing beast 

Were treated one day to a most royal feast, 

The lean wistful-eyed dogs, who by chance there did stray, 

By the scraps and the bones well remembered this day. 

The footsore and weary were not turned from the door, 

All welcome were they to partake of his store. 

Why does Jean's simple heart with such gladness expand, 

As he scatters his hoard with a prodigal hand? 

Yesternight, a large bird, as o'er the house flying, 

Had dropped a small parcel near where Jess was lying. 

But like a rare orchid that is cherished with care 
Lest its petals be shorn by the cold wintry air, 
Even so came to be, when hour after hour, 
Jess and her Jean watched the weak fragile flower, 



JEAN RIVARD 5 

For days there were many when they ate not nor slept 
As their ne'er ceasing vigils they untiringly kept, 
Jean now prayed to his God as he'd not prayed before 
That the Spectre of Death might be kept from his door. 

Though the night endless seems, comes the bright dawn 

at last, 
And the sun shines again, for the crisis is passed, 
As the thin wasted form 'gainst her bosom did rest, 
By the dear mother's hand again fondly caressed, 
No queen silken-clad was more happy than she, 
Who, cotton-gowned, crooned a low lullaby, 
The overful heart sent glad tears to her eye, 
For her arm held that which a queen's gold could not buy. 

When as day followed day, and week after week, 
The pink overspread the once thin pallid cheek, 
The little limp arm had become plump and round, 
Where his mother, perchance, some new dimple found, 
Can by no facile pen be words written, that could 
Describe the pure joy of her young motherhood, 
As his small baby hands wandered over her face, 
And his curly head nestled in its love-hallowed place. 

Swiftly sped on the years, each day something new, 

As their once feeble babe to a sturdy lad grew, 

Whom Jean sometimes chided, whom she oft did caress, 

Just a natural three, Jean, Phillip, and Jess. 

In the two minds mature was their childhood renewed, 



6 JEAN RIVARD 

By the pranks of their boy was their own past reviewed, 
Cared they not, Jess and Jean, for the big world outside, 
Cared they only for Phillip and their own fireside. 

In the cottage was one, of herself never sparing, 

In the field was the other, strong armed, burden-bearing, 

At night was there counted what had earned in the day, 

All above present needs for their boy placed away. 

A few pennies each day to the little store add, 

Which would help pay the schooling of Phillip, their lad. 

In the end, for this toil would they be well requited, 

Ever thinking of one, in which both were united. 

On the vine covered porch are young tendrils clinging 
From the warm sun-kissed earth are the violets springing, 
In apple tree blossoms is the oriole swinging, 
Again is the robin her summer nest stringing, 
Around the white cottage are bobolinks singing, 
But no tokens of joy are these now to Jean bringing. 

The light-hearted Jess one day appeared sad, 

For the first time neglected her six year old lad, 

The hand ever willing, for work was not ready, 

The small restless foot was that morning unsteady, 

The light waving gold was fast losing its sheen, 

To the laughing blue eyes many things were unseen, 

The once warm cherry lips were now cold and pale, 

Their Jess had been stricken, and no skill would avail. 

Could she but have spoken, the fear would have been, 

Who would care now for laddie and her hard working Jean. 



JEAN RIVARD 7 

Never far from her touch were there two always staying, 

One weeping, not knowing; one knowing, and praying, 

Little Phillip, her laddie, the other, her Jean, 

Also One who close hovered, presence felt but unseen. 

When to her came the Summons she left those by her side, 

With Him away drifted on the slow ebbing tide, 

His wings spread for sails, guides her frail bark to lee 

Of the rocks, barring entrance, to Eternity's Sea. 

In the cottage now silent, 

Are hearts with grief torn, 
The spirit departed 

At the coming of morn. 
The soft golden sunbeams 

As they reached the white bed, 
Wreathed a halo celestial 

Around the dear head. 
Her laddie, not knowing, 

On the coverlet weeping 
Was calling in vain 

The wearied one sleeping. 
Jean's mind could not fathom 

Why she should be taken, 
In what long he'd believed 

His faith was now shaken. 
When to Him, Jean had prayed 

Might be spared them the rod, 
That his prayer had not heard 

COULD THERE BE NO JUST GOD! 

End of Part One 



JEAN RIVARD 



PART TWO 

The Two 



JEAN RIVARD 



In the field around Jean is a little boy playing, 

Here and there, everywhere, the bare feet are straying 

As a butterfly chased, or a speckled egg found, 

Or ran the fat woodchuck to his hole in the ground. 

From blue-bell to daisy like a humming bird flits, 

Then returns to Jean tired, and on plow handle sits 

As Jean told a story, in this way diverting 

The mind that was always to one thing reverting. 

It was not every day that these two so enjoyed, 
There were five in the week when the lad was employed 
In holding the pen till his fingers were aching, 
As pot hooks and curves and circles were making. 
The well-pictured primer its contents perusing, 
The old spelling book with words so confusing 
Seemed to him like time wasted, as he thought of the pool 
By the bushes well shaded, not far from the school, 
Where with bent pin and fly was sometimes a fish caught, 
Sharing there with his lassie, the lunch he had brought. 

Of the once open wound in the scar there's a trace 
Which Time, the Great Healer, cannot wholly efface. 
Those that do never heal 
Can of these many be, 
Does the heart well conceal 

10 



JEAN RIVARD 11 

What the eye cannot see. 
With the pain never absent 

Then in anguish we're turning 
To those that are present 

Who can best still the yearning 
For some small compassion that can make the heart glad 
Was it so with these two, Jean and Phillip, his lad. 

Like the strong rugged oak, whose far-reaching arm 
Shields the sapling beneath from unforeseen harm, 
Lest the merciless gale in blind furious wrath 
Uproot with a vengeance all that dared block its path, 
So Phillip, the sapling, by the boughs overspread, 
Felt no touch of the blast as it reared its young head. 
And offspring and parent, sometimes bent by the wind, 
Soon rebound from each blow with their branches en- 
twined. 

• 
Although to the world, Jean was silent and stern, 
When he played with his lad, did the years backward turn. 
For the time would regret 

That he now was a man, 
Trying well to forget 

As he thought of some plan 
How could best keep away 

From the fast growing mind 
What he looked for each day 

And would never-more find, 
Two comrades were they, in the truest sense known, 
The Oak's height had stopped, but the Sapling had grown. 



12 JEAN RIVARD 

At the window would Jean, in the morn often stand 

To return the goodbye of his lad's waving hand, 

As he made the last turn ere he passed from his view, 

While his school bag he swung, filled with books not a few. 

For the studious lad in his work did excel, 

Not alone in what carried, but in all things as well. 

In their rough games and sports a bold leader was he, 

With the fists or the foils none could claim mastery. 

Occurred then which none could the least understand, 
A panic disastrous swept over the land; 
Few there were if any 

But received a great fall, 
And Jean, like the many 

Unaware, lost his all. 
Although to ground felled 

But a moment he lies, 
By his Phillip's hand held 

Does with new strength arise. 
Wrought again, hard and long, though most blunt was 

the tool, 
It was all for his lad who continued at school. 

Phillip finished his course with such merit that he 

A scholarship won for the great 'Varsity. 

None prouder were there on the day that he told 

His father he now was a student enrolled 

In a great seat of learning, through whose portals had 

passed 
Men of world-wide renown, whose fame still would last 



JEAN RIVARD 13 

To the end of all time, and the star-blazoned scroll, 
Which told of their deeds, was to Phillip his goal. 

Now his lad had attained 

To what rightly belonged, 
To himself, Jean complained 

Had his own life been wronged. 
Once the time was when Jean had ambition to learn, 
But the mouths needed more than the small hands could 

earn. 
Handicapped in all ways 

But one path could he tread, 
Since his young boyhood days 

He no school book had read. 
But his shoulders were broad, his step sure though slow, 
What had been in Jean crushed, would his lad never know. 

Between Jean and his Jess had been nothing unshared, 
But to Phillip, his lad, there was never unbared 
The every day grind which he had to forefend 
And the burden that oft caused his shoulders to bend 
As he toiled with his might 

Without one thought of rest, 
From morn until night 

By one idea obsessed 
That the hard stony path, which he travelled alone, 
Would be, to his Phillip, forever unknown. 

The seeds of his thrift, so well had these sown, 
That small tarnished coins had to gold eagles grown. 



14 JEAN RIVARD 

A mere pittance, 'tis true, 

Was this well-hoarded gain, 
What it cost to obtain 

There were none better knew. 
For his Phillip had saved, 

There would soon come the day 
When on roads roughly paved 

Would be wending his way. 
As Jean the pile counted was embittered by thought, 
That his long years of toil had this small reward brought. 



Jean was well past his prime, and the unending care 
Had whitened the locks of his once raven hair, 
The tall stalwart form, which for years had defied 
All buffets and blows, from the world could not hide 
The slow ravage of Time, for Jean in his zeal 
Had tended the mast as well as the wheel; 
He alone had accomplished the task meant for two, 
From Life had he borrowed; It demanded its due. 

By Phillip's years Jean should have much younger been, 
But from Jean was withheld what is given most men. 
Upon him had depended the care of those smaller, 
On his shoulders had fallen the whip of one taller. 
Well remembered by Jean was the oft emptied bottle, 
A Demon releasing that no hand could throttle, 
When at last was no more what had long grieved his 

mother, 
Jean had shed not a tear as he looked at the other. 



JEAN RIVARD 15 

Into Jean's mirthless life had by accident entered 
What around long thereafter was everything centered. 
But his arm could not do that for which heart was longing, 
For this would have been the weaker one's wronging. 
Those that do birds desire must for them get a cage, 
At the rate Jean was saving, it would soon be an age. 
When of her, Jean had asked, "Will you wait for me, 

Jess?" 
Was there to him answered the little word "Yes." 
How much can sometimes a simple word tell, 
Had for each other waited, and they both waited well. 

Has the world rolled around with its flowers and its snow, 
Much too fast for the Oak, for the Sapling, too slow. 
For the strong knotted branch which had served as a 

shield 
To the fast growing Slip now no longer appealed, 
To the sturdy young Oak pushing upward its way 
Impelled by a force that no power can stay. 
With their boughs interlocked, to an equal height grown, 
There are TWO now where once stood the Old Oak alone. 



But the Old Oak is stiff, to the blast cannot bend, 

For the life-giving sap now does slowly ascend, 

The brittle limbs break from the trunk roughly scarred, 

And its bold symmetry is forever now marred. 

But the Young Oak, the Son, as it bends to the storm 

In its young virile strength, laughs the tempest to scorn, 

It welcomes the blow 



16 JEAN RIVARD 

As with head high and free, 
It sways to and fro 
In a wild ecstasy. 



Now the end was achieved, 

Jean was more than content 
That the close of his life 

Would be happily spent 
With the one that was left, 

As to Phillip he turned 
For the solace and cheer 

Had unselfishly earned. 
For his once brawny arm 

Could not as before wield 
The axe or the hoe 

Or the scythe in the field, 
But his own little garden, 

Where he spent many hours, 
Was more than replete 

With its fruit and its flowers. 

End of Part Two 



JEAN RIVARD 



PART THREE 

Phillip, the Scholar and Soldier 



JEAN RIVARD 



Of the courses at college there was one that appealed 
Most strongly to Phillip, as he looked o'er the field 
Where lads were assembling for the afternoon drill, 
Little thinking they soon Would depleted ranks fill. 
While in years they were boys, yet each felt like a man, 
As they marched, then deployed, now in skirmishes ran. 
In the "esprit de corps" they all equally shared, 
If war came, none could say they were found unprepared. 

It was two years or more since the bullet well aimed 
Had startled the world, now by fury inflamed, 
The great war then begun 

Which now seemed ne'er would cease, 
Had a menace become 

To all nations at peace. 
None could say who the next would thereby be involved, 
'Twas for this Phillip joined, for that day had resolved 
He would work hard and long, while the time still re- 
mained, 
And the bars win, before his degree he'd obtained. 

That night, well considered were the words he did say 
To his father, lest he should his own thoughts betray. 
That of which was no doubt, from his father withheld, 
Time enough there would be when events so compelled. 

19 



20 JEAN RIVARD 

His one and sole object, to Jean he explained, 
Was that as a graduate he would be retained 
By his own Alma Mater, for every large college 
Was calling for those with military knowledge. 

As Phillip, war-fevered, to his studies applied, 
He thought of the sword that would hang by his side. 
The books and the drills were by now well aligned, 
In the lad was the scholar and soldier combined. 
On the sleeve of his coat he had awkwardly sewn 
TJiat which to the soldier is the first stepping-stone, 
They were Corporal's stripes, but the General's star 
Now seemed to gleam faintly from a distance afar. 

One morning, the Scholar was from college dismissed, 
That noon, as an Officer, his dear father kissed. 
The chevrons, which once he so proudly had worn, 
That day from his coat had been hastily torn. 
As a fitting reward to the painstaking soldier 
His insignia had moved from the sleeve to the shoulder. 
Phillip thought of the bars, as how brightly they shone, 
Also thought of his father, who would soon be alone, 
But his country had called, none could now change his 

mind, 
Was fully commissioned, and to duty assigned. 



As of this Phillip told, Jean was prone to believing 
That for months had the lad been his father deceiving, 
But that this could so be, soon dismissed with a sigh 
As years, resurrected, in review passing by, 



JEAN RIVARD 21 

Showed the school-going lad, then his brief college life, 
The Great War that had drawn the whole world into strife, 
Of what could well happen, Jean was filled with a dread, 
As there loomed up before him the long years ahead. 



But one day now remained, Jean appeared quite deranged, 
Would have turned back the clock, or the calendar 

changed, 
Like the Joshua of old who commanded the sun 
To stop in its course till the battle was won. 
Wished the steamer near due 

Might somewhere be detained, 
That, thereby, could a few 

Hours more be obtained. 
There was that in his look, in the touch of his hand, 
Which Phillip, his lad, did now well understand. 



There were so many words could be left to the last, 
But that time never came as the day quickly passed, 
To the thought ever present 

Jean never referred, 
And the subject unpleasant 

Once again was deferred. 
But Time is no laggard, and it flies with swift wings, 
Caring naught for the woe or the pleasure it brings. 
To speak first both waited, when too soon the end came, 
Their tongues remained silent, but their thoughts were the 
same. 



22 JEAN RIVARD 

On the morn of the day 

That his Phillip would leave, 
Except those who have sons, 

There are none will believe 
That the Jean who now greeted 

His lad with a smile, 
The last night in his yard 

Had walked many a mile. 
All the words left unspoken 

Ere the goodbyes were said, 
Were now told in the grasp 

Where were volumes unread. 
When the coaches rolled out 

With the troops well entrained, 
Jean's heart was left empty, 

The shell only remained. 

End of Part Three 



JEAN RIVARD 



PART FOUR 

Jean and the "Stranger" 



JEAN RIVARD 



At the station were many near Jean 

Who did love for their country profess, 
And on all such occasions are seen 

Where they can by their presence impress. 
Who now cheered the brave lads on their way 

To a country with perils unknown, 
Short time it would be until they 

"Over there" the Red Tyrant dethrone. 
Of those who were there loudly shouting 

"By this only could democracy live," 
Were many of whom Jean was doubting, 

If for war any sons they could give. 

It could not have been Jean the next day 

Who around the house aimlessly walked, 
There was no loving hand there to stay 

The Ghost that now silently stalked. 
Who heard not the loud scratch at the door, 

Nor the little tap-tap 'gainst the pane, 
For the first, there will bones be no more, 

For the others, no handful of grain. 
It was not the few words Jean had spoken, 

But it was the few words left unsaid, 
That brought on a fitful sleep broken, 

Which caused him to toss on his bed. 

25 



26 JEAN RIVARD 

Of his lad was reminded each day 

By the foils and mask hung on the wall, 
On a shelf in the closet there lay 

Skates, racquet, a golf stick and ball. 
In the attic was carefully laid 

Odds and ends that are dear to all boys, 
Where on rainy days Phillip had played 

Quite content with his crude home-made toys. 
Hanging down from the cob-webbed beam 

Whittled out from a tough hickory board 
By him started, but finished by Jean, 

Were a wonderful gun and a sword. 

Jean cares little what neighbors may say, 

Though the yard is with weeds overgrown, 
In the rat-possessed barn, rusting lay 

All the tools which the garden had known, 
By the fence with its hinge-creaking gate, 

Through which seldom does anyone pass, 
For red apples they dare not to wait 

As to school goes the lad with his lass. 
With a fear they now quicken their pace, 

Though neither can tell the cause why, 
The something that's strange 'bout the place 

Cannot hide from a child's curious eye. 

To follow his lad, Jean had tried, 
Did not know he was old until then, 

From all those to whom he applied 

Was answered, "We want younger men." 



JEAN RIVARD 27 

The war, never ceasing, 
And each day increasing, 
No old life was leasing. 

Day by day in the papers appeared 

Names that made the fond waiting hearts sad, 

In each one that Jean opened he feared 
Would be printed the name of his lad. 

Of the next day not knowing 
Whose name would be showing 
In the list ever growing. 

The November sun was then setting, 

Soon he would the old student lamp light, 
This hour of all, not forgetting 

Where the two oft had sat there at night, 
Well in front of the slow burning logs, 

All that could the small fire-place hold, 
There upheld by two mute patient dogs, 

Which once shone with the color of gold; 
Days agone had reflected like glass, 

Now corroded and black,they portray 
That impartial does Time nothing pass, 

What is touched by his hand, will decay. 

Now different to Jean were the flames, 

Ever-changing, they cast on the wall 
The long wavering lines of two names 

Which to Jean all the past now recall. 
It was first of his young charming bride 



28 JEAN RIVARD 

That the flickering shadows now spelled, 
Then another one stood by her side 

Whom her arms had once tenderly held. 
He now thought of the time when were three, 

When the united three were as one, 
Knew not then that a day he would be 

There alone left, without wife or son. 

The old books, long unopened, unread, 

Which he oft had with Phillip discussed, 
Only Fate could have been that now led 

Jean to where they stood covered with dust. 
Strange to say that the first his hand crossed, 

And the one for which Jean did not look, 
Should contain the queer story of Faust, 

Of them all, Phillip's favorite book. 
He now read once again this quaint lore 

As he sat by the fire, then he 
Let it slip from his hand to the floor, — 

He was lost in a deep reverie. 

Then as Jean in the fire-place gazed 

Were his thoughts in a new channel led, 
Buried hopes in his heart had been raised 

By the book which had long been unread. 
As its full meaning grasped, it was clear 

It could happen again, if 'twere true, 
But to ask the Unknown to appear, 

Was something that Jean feared to do. 



JEAN RIVARD 29 

Of his future, Jean was not sure, 

His faith long ago had been shaken , 
The day when his lad tried the pure 

Dear heart from her sleep to awaken. 
Jean then had most fervently prayed, 

But his frantic appeals were unheeded, 
Why had He not the parting delayed 

Until Jean had his dear Jess preceded? 
It now seemed it were but yesterday 

Since his heart had been stabbed to the core, 
The one who could this pain best allay 

Might absent remain evermore. 

Jean unseen had that day overheard 

What his neighbors regarded as plain, 
From his actions they well had inferred 

That he soon would be going insane. 
If what neighbors had said should be true, 

This suspense not for long would endure, 
There was one thing he quickly would do, 

On earth there would soon be one fewer. 
Why should he for an hour delay 

In putting an end to his sorrow, 
Although had been spared him this day, 

There still was the ever tomorrow. 

From his chair near the small fire-place, 

With a face grim and stern, Jean arose, 
Phillip's home he would never disgrace 

When his hand brought his last long repose. 



30 JEAN RIVARD 

Abstracted, he picked from the floor 
The old finger-marked copy of Faust; 

Then he heard a loud rap at the door, 
To the desk was the book quickly tossed. 

Jean was startled almost to a fright 

When had come unexpected the knock, 
With a trembling hand did the lamp light, 

But the door he could hardly unlock. 
Before Jean stood one faultlessly dressed, 

With a face that bespoke quick decision, 
Had the confident air, self-possessed 

Of one who well knew his position. 
With a bow, asked in tones most polite 

What Jean felt he could not well refuse, 
If he there could a short letter write, 

For this kindness would Jean nothing lose. 

. 
For this Jean was quite unprepared, 

As to what best to do, hesitated, 
For a second or so blankly stared 

At the one who his answer awaited. 
With some doubt as to if he was right, 

Slowly Jean drew the door open wide, 
To come into his house did invite 

The one who stood waiting outside. 
As he entered, Jean regretted he had 

A few things in the cottage neglected, 
Was not sure whether sorry or glad 

Chance there had the stranger directed. 



JEAN RIVARD 31 

Unconcerned as though Jean was not there. 

The stranger moved forward the light 
To the desk, where he now placed a chair, 

As though soon would his short letter write. 
Neither paper nor parchment was that 

Which he then from his breast pocket drew 
And unrolled, which at once he laid flat 

Near the book, of whose contents he knew. 
No attention paid he to the Faust 

Which Jean's nervous hand had held last. 
With a look, that to Jean was not lost, 

Sat down where he wrote long and fast. 

With his queer looking pen, long and keen, 

W T as no fluid of any kind used, 
Like some metal the sheet seemed to Jean 

That had been by a strange process fused 
In the cottage no sound was there heard 

But the scratch of the fast moving pen, 
Since he came in had been not a word 

Exchanged there between the two men. 
Jean wished, as he looked at the Stranger, 

That he had his first impulse obeyed, 
He felt there was lurking some danger, 

Unseen, of which now was afraid. 

But the Stranger had finished at last, 

With a movement abrupt turned to Jean, 

To whom seemed that a long night had passed 
Since he had at the desk writing been. 



32 JEAN RIVARD 

From his eyes black as jet came a glow 

Which strongly impressed Jean with fear, 
But that Jean should his purpose not know, 

Softly spoke, as his chair he drew near. 
That he must a strong argument make 

Lest his plans should be soon overthrown, 
From Jean's eyes his strange orbs did not take 

As his errand to him he made known. 



"To your cottage I came unexpected, 
"My service had not been requested, 
"I came as a book had suggested. 

"Ever willing am I to aid those in despair, 
"Their hopes badly shattered, I quickly repair. 

"I walk side by side with the high and the low, 
"Same to me is the palace and the beggars' dark row. 

"Never idle am I, but on some journey bound, 

"From the head prison-shorn to the head regal-crowned. 

"None call on me in vain, never deaf is my ear, 
"One has but to suggest and at once I appear. 

"Those who my counsel heed have no cause for regret, 
"All their sorrows and troubles they soon do forget. 

"What now preys on your mind is to me clear and plain, 
"That which seemed beyond reach, you now soon can 
obtain. 



JEAN RIVARD 33 



" Sometimes in man's brain dormant lies, 
"That which he cannot well analyze, 
"But its presence can never disguise. 

"In my travels do I often find 

"Those who to themselves are quite blind, 

"Cannot see the disease in their mind. 



"Why should you try yourself to deceive, 
"Why should you, here alone, sit and grieve, 
"Why cannot you in me quite believe? 

"Suppose I had from coming refrained, 
"And that I had your hand not restrained, 
"Would you thereby have anything gained? 

"Suppose you had done as intended, 
"And your own lonely life soon had ended, 
"Upon what would you then have depended? 

"You then would have been lost forever, 
"By that act alone, you could never 
"Rejoin that which your own hand did sever. 

"Over this has man long argued well, 

"If exists either Heaven or Hell, 

"If so be, there's none living can tell. 



34 JEAN RIVARD 

"Take that which you can and be sure, 
"That which you can grasp fast secure, 
"For the mind that's diseased there's no cure. 

"In the morn as your face in the mirror you view, 
"You will say to yourself 'Can this thing be true? 
" T see not Jean Rivard, but an old man made new.' 

"One condition remains which I now will define, 
"That with your own blood this compact will sign, 
"That when the end comes, your soul will be mine." 

In the words well intoned he dispelled 

Any doubts that remained in Jean's mind, 
By the long pointed pen that he held 

Would ink from Jean's wrist quickly find. 
Although now quite benumbed was Jean's brain, 

It took him not long which to choose; 
It seemed he could everything gain, 

Was not sure he would anything lose. 
Would by it youth regain 

If the offer accepted, 
Would an old man remain 

If the offer rejected. 
Left alone, going mad, could not there longer stay, 
So he chose what then seemed the only feasible way. 
That what Jean soon did sign, he scarcely had read, 
Had taken for granted all the Stranger had said. 
With a heart diabolical, 
And a mind psychological, 



JEAN BIVARD 35 

Had he made clear to Jean what had seemed most illogical. 
By words vaguely written, 
True meaning well hidden, 

Jean remembered, too late, there was ONE thing for- 
bidden. 

Spoke the Stranger again; "Before I depart, 
Look well upon what will be burned in your heart." 
And there stood a SOMETHING, in a cloak flaming red, 
With no eyes, but two holes filled with live coals instead, 
From his head grew two horns, on the ground hung a tail, 
With no feet, but two hoofs, his legs covered with mail, 
And then came a flash with a deafening roar, 
Senseless and blinded, Jean fell to the floor. 

In the night's darkest hour, which precedes the morn, 
On the floor, unattended, a new Jean was born, 
With the face, form and vigor, of a twenty year youth, 
Had no lie told the Stranger, for mirrors speak truth. 
For France and his Phillip, Jean departed at dawn, 
Left the cottage unkempt, with curtains undrawn, 
Had forgotten the heart long under the sod, 
Knew not his own name, remembered no God. 

Where once had been flowers 
Now are brambles and weeds, 

The fruit long has rotted, 

The ground covered with seeds. 

The cottage door left unlocked 
Has swung open far wide, 



36 JEAN RIVARD 

Soon the birds, unmolested, 

Will their nests build inside. 
All the stray, homeless dogs 

Who before, slinking passed, 
Can a warm shelter find 

From the cold winter blast, 
And the cottage in which 

Little Phillip had played, 
Ere its master returns 

Will have long been decayed. 

End of Part Four 



JEAN RIVARD 



PART FIVE 

Jean, the Soldier 
The Hindu, and the Crusader Sword 



JEAN RIVARD 



Jean was known as 'The Silent,' to talk not inclined, 

About him there was something quite strange, undefined, 

Who, aloof from the rest, had in his quiet way 

The drills fully mastered in almost a day, 

An order once given, was no use to repeat, 

No emergency 'rose but was ready to meet, 

Quick was he to adapt, as one to the life born, 

Was the new Jean Rivard, changed in name and in form. 



It was as John Revor, that Jean had enlisted, 
In the choice of a name by The Stranger assisted, 
For Jean it were better it should be somewhat similar, 
So he chose one that sounded to Jean quite familiar. 
His Phillip ne'er dreamed, never knew from the start, 
There stood one in the ranks, of which he was a part. 
But the John was still Jean, and could scarcely conceal 
What the one who had named him had forbade him reveal. 



In the compact JEAN signed, he had not understood 
He'd remain undisclosed, or that instant he would 
Be transformed back again to the original Jean, 
Far removed from his lad with wide waters between. 
The words which to Jean at the time were not plain 

39 j 



40 JEAN RIVARD 

In letters of fire now flashed through his brain, 
By a master of guile was this compact well drawn, 
It was Life's game of chess, with Jean as the pawn. 



Of the Hell down below must be left to conception, 

What it can be on earth was to John no deception. 

Has there been by none held a brush that could picture 

What no mind of man could ever conjecture — 

The grief most acute which bowed John in despair, 

Not to speak to his lad, touch his hand, stroke his hair. 

In this plan well conceived, 

In purport not defined, 
Was the plan that deceived 

A plain trusting mind. 



Of his company's men was there one quite as diffident, 
Who by birth, creed and race, was from John, wholly 

different. 
In John's great tribulation, 
He then sought consolation 
Of one that did prove, in the end, his salvation. 
Neither one friend invited, 
Either one friend resented, 

Alike, yet most unlike, a strange pair presented. 
One of race subjugated, 
The other, Hell-fated, 
Not by blood, but by mind, were they closely related. 



JEAN RIVARD 41 

John's comrade, a Hindu, was a lord in his land, 
Who as soldier now served with the Allied command. 
Unknown to his sword were there no lands or climes, 
In each had in battle been engaged many times. 
With muscles like steel, and heart of a child, 
The keen eye of a hawk, a tongue undefiled, 
Quick to strike when was need, to anger quite slow, 
The warmest of friends or the bitterest foe. 

Tall, lean and swarthy, and most supple of limb, 

He seemed made for the sword, not the sword made for 

him. 
His skill with the foils was a wonder to see, 
As he took them by one, by two, and by three. 
Fascinated John stood, longed to hold in his hand 
The other foil brought from the far Eastern land. 
Of John asked the Hindu, while a moment he rested, 
To hold the foil's mate, John the challenge accepted. 
As he then faced his friend through his arm went a thrill, 
There he took all the blows, did not leave off until 
He'd made his first pass as he broke down the guard; 
He would soon be its master, there was naught to retard. 

So adept became John, and so eager to learn, 
Before scarcely he knew it, found it easy to turn 
The foil ever pointing at face or at heart, 
Rejoiced then his teacher, for with him 'twas an art. 
He was glad that at last lived a man that could stand 
'Gainst the sword that had slashed through many a land, 
Which he kept safely guarded from all prying eyes, 
Lest some, not too honest, might covet the prize. 



42 JEAN RIVARD 

A Damasacus it was, the only one of its kind, 
And the acme of craft, by a master designed. 
Of his effort supreme he left no duplicate. 
The long process, by which only he could create 
Such a master piece rare, remained ever unknown, 
For the grave which is dumb holds the secret alone. 
And the fame of that city since his day has declined, 
Those who there dwell are not of a sword-making mind. 

The guard round the hilt was of pure beaten gold, 

Its surface was chased and with strange emblems scrolled ; 

In the top was inserted a many-hued stone, 

Such as few in the East, except princes, can own. 

A branch from the tree it could lop off with ease, 

Tear the leaves into shreds as they flew with the breeze, 

Would a thin paper cut when tossed upward in air, 

And drawn over the hand, it would sever a hair. 

End of Part Five 



JEAN RIVARD 



PART SIX 

The Tale the Hindu Told 



JEAN RIVARD 



In their trenches at night 

The Hindu once told of a Prince who had lived 

In the days that were old. 

Who an army maintained, 

And vassals beside; in his stronghold secure 

Other Rajahs defied. 

By his sword filled his coffers 

With silver and gold; had in blood waded deep 

For this fortune untold. 

And the many rare jewels 

That he'd gained by his pelf, did exceed the ones owned 

By the Mogul himself. 

Though his heart was like flint, 

Yet most keen was his brain; would not others entrust 

With his ill-gotten gain. 

So a chest he designed, 

By his slaves was it made; when their task they had finished 

Underground soon they laid. 

Made of steel was the chest 

That weighed many a stone; held by chains to the floor, 

And the cover alone 

Was such that the weight 

Took the two hands to raise, and the labor thereon 

Had consumed many days. 

45 



46 JEAN RIVARD 

In its edge was a knife, 

Long and keen, hid from view; of its presence there none, 

Save the Prince, ever knew. 

Held by weights and by springs, 

When wide open would stand quite firm and secure, 

But should a strange hand 

Its contents disturb, 

Then 'twould fall with a crash, and the hand or the arm 

Now caught fast, it would slash 

Like the bone 'neath the cleaver, 

By a blow cut in twain; there were none that escaped, 

There were none tried again. 

But his most precious gem 

Was not found in the chest; had never King Solomon 

Its like e'er possessed. 

A Pearl for which many 

A prince had despaired; Venus-formed, ivory-skinned, 

Azure-eyed, golden-haired. 

A most wondrous creation 

Which had best be explained; her mother, Circassian, 

As the 'Beauty 5 had reigned. 

Swore the Prince, by Mahomet, 

When her time came to wed, by a king would his daughter 

To the altar be led. 

To the Rajah, one day 

A strange courier brought, a request that to answer 

Required deepest thought. 

One of Germany's kinglets 



JEAN RIVARD 47 

To the Princess aspired, (had an eye to the gold 

That the Prince had acquired.) 

But the Prince, over-cautious, 

Was to haste not inclined, bade the envoy remain 

Till he'd made up his mind. 

Took into his castle 

This knight, never dreaming, that with tongue smooth as 

satin 
Was a brain, ever scheming. 

Of his own father's name 

His mother knewnot, what occurred before wedlock, 

For convenience, forgot. 

It's more tactful at times 

Not to rake over-deep, lest the nostrils offend 

By the over-ripe heap. 

Without name or fortune, 

Yet was that in his mien, could no woman resist, 

Maid, Princess, or Queen. 

The proud Rajah cajoled, 

While the Princess desired, with a longing that came 

From a heart foul-bemired. 

The Prince dared not take 

The chest key to the field, doubted much where it could 

Be in safety concealed. 

Throughout all his domain 

By his hand most defiled, in but one could he trust, 

The young Princess, his child. 

Whom his eunuchs well guarded 



48 JEAN RIVARD 

By day and by night, those who dared her approach 

Would their swift doom invite. 

To her girdle, the key 

Could be strongly secured, when the Prince was away 

Of its safety assured. 



Of the hours there were few 

When the Rajah remained at rest in his castle 

When could gold be obtained. 

In the saddle he soon 

Led his merciless horde, the chest to replenish 

By his never-sheathed sword. 

As the greed-eaten Hun, 

Seeing only the key, chose well then his words, 

By his false lips had he 

Seldom failed with the fair, 

There were many could tell, by his serpent eye charmed, 

Who had listened too well. 



As they sat side by side, and her hand gently pressed, 
Not of her were his thoughts, but the great treasure-chest. 
And he bided his time, as he told once again 
What to maidens will ever a mystery remain. 
So well did she pay 
For this innocent bliss, 
Not until the next day 
Did the treasure key miss. 



JEAN RIVARD 49 

When the castle was quiet, 

And all within slept, this crown and-rag offspring 

To the vault slowly crept. 

Where stood the great chest 

With its jewels most rare, in their size and in lustre 

There were none could compare. 

With the key in the lock 

He made a quick turn, as the cover uplifted 

His eyes seemed to burn 

As though had been thrust 

In the bright noon-day sun, or a million of stars 

Which in truth they outshone. 

Stooping over the chest 

It was first one he took, then a larger one chose, 

This again he forsook 

For another more brilliant, 

Ever changing, did grieve, that in gold and in silver 

Would a king's ransom leave. 

Then as one of his hands 

Both of which were inside, in its greed touched the spring 

That the jewels now hide, 

Swiftly down came the lid 

On the head that leaned o'er, it remained in the chest, 

Fell his trunk to the floor. 

Ended now is the tale 
That the dark Hindu told, 
Of a race that has ever 
Been craving for gold. 



50 JEAN RIVARD 

Those who survived the trench 
Still relate to this day 
What he there at night told 
In his strange Eastern way. 

End of Part Six 



JEAN RIVARD 



PART SEVEN 

Death of the Hindu 



JEAN RIVARD 



In a place well advanced, near the land oft contested, 
Phillip with his command, half equipped, was intrenching. 
Could not question the orders from the colonel command- 
ing, 
Who had to that sector been hastily transferred, 
Why he should be there placed by no cannon supported, 
What to him seemed a blunder, must as soldier obey. 
To hold what he had he was fully determined, 
But would not of himself his own men sacrifice. 
Many mines he now laid, by fine wire connected, 
Which could be in an instant all together exploded. 

Were his efforts repaid sooner than he had reckoned, 
One morn saw the trenches by dense fog enveloped 
That beyond a few yards could not eye penetrate. 
Phillip called in his men, and stationed the outposts 
Within the small area that by mines were protected. 
By all was it known that inside the barbed wire, 
Lay hidden and dormant what could be quickly awakened. 
Nothing more could be done, but wait and be ready. 

'Gainst the trench, most terrific, a shell fire soon opened, 
Many hours before had the range been well taken, 
The pickets came running and in the trench tumbled, 
Phillip counted them all, the Hindu was missing. 

53 



54 JEAN RIVARD 

In the mound of the trench was a large stone imbedded 
Which now by the shells had become partly loosened. 
When the next one would strike it, was John closely 

watching, 
Soon it came rolling down bringing stones, sand, and 

gravel, 
Leaving a hole such as one could well crawl through. 
To this end of the trench, had been one slowly moving, 
With a last look at Phillip, John on his quest started. 

Too far from his lines had a Hun patrol ventured, 

In the earth lying cloud had lost his location, 

Lest he should a noise make, and with tread doubly 

cautious, 
He came upon him who was the other way facing. 
His loud speaking gun might bring swift retribution, 
So he made a spring forward and used the dumb bayonet. 
Mos e than quick turned the Hindu, and the Hun started 

"Westward". 
With eyes bloodshot and bulging, his black tongue pro- 
truding, 
The Hindu's hand on his throat, it was thus that John 
found them. 

John felt a slight heart-beat as he loosened the fingers 
That now held the throat with a grip that was vise like. 
On his shoulder he then threw his near lifeless comrade, 
And ran with his burden through a gauntlet infernal. 
Not a moment too soon had the two reached the trenches, 
The shelling had stopped, and all knew what would follow. 



JEAN RIVARD 55 

By the hole through which John and the Hindu had 

entered* 
With the key to his fingers, there stood Phillip waiting. 
By the sun's warming rays was now the fog lifting, 
Disclosing to Phillip all inside the barbed wire, 
The first Hun that crossed it would to him be the signal, 
There would then be unloosened Hell's pent-up artillery. 
Like a part of the fog, the grey Huns came running 
In the trench unprotected, they soon would be mopping, 
Most courageous were they when massed by the hundred, 
But when separated, they soon cried "Kamerad". 

To those in the trench came a sound more than 

deafening, 
The ground rose and fell like a violent earthquake, 
Against each other thrown, they fell over like ten-pins, 
But they quickly rebounded, each hand to its rifle. 
Then as over the top following close to their leader, 
To the very last man were they sore disappointed, 
Of the Huns who came running, there were none now left 

standing, 
Arms and legs, trunks and heads, there lay the Hell- 
carrion. 

As Phillip requested, John remained with the Hindu, 
To a short breathing spell was John well entitled, 
In the mud and in shell holes had he often fallen, 
But the weight scarcely felt, as enraged onward struggled. 
Whom the blood now was stanching, to him spoke the 
Hindu, 



56 JEAN RIVARD 

"Oh, lift high my head that I may see the sunlight, 
"Let me not lay in darkness, for my eyes are bedimmed, 
"Listen well to my words as I leave you my fortune, 
"All that to me remains of what once I possessed. 

"My sole treasure well guard, for it's centuries old, 
"It was torn from the hand of a Crusader bold, 
"As he lay cold and stiff by Jerusalem's door, 
"With his feet on the threshold he never passed o'er. 
"Of his name we know not, never could ascertain, 
"But a Monarch he died, was the King of the slain. 
"Handed down has it been from proud father to son, 
"I bequeath it to you, for of sons have I none." 
Thus the brave Hindu died, passed away was the man 
Who'd been John's only friend since the Great War 

began. 
Much to John meant the gift from the one who had gone, 
What the Hindu had dropped, John would still carry on. 

End of Part Seven 



JEAN RIVARD 



PART EIGHT 

The Croix de Guerre 



JEAN RIVARD 



O'er the field where the men were lined up at parade 
Waved the Flag which they proudly had borne, 

In its rags floating grandly, this Ensign now frayed,, 
, Had no hand of the Hun touched or torn. 

This Banner of Freedom had in dust never trailed, 
Staunchly held by brave lads from o'er-seas, 

Their own Stars ^nd Stripes had its trust never failed, 
It would soon force the Huns to their knees. 

. 
John's comrades in mud-spotted khaki arrayed, 

Had assembled near where stood the band, 
And the name of the air which that morning was played, 

Was the flag of their own native land. 
Then as John past them marched to the General's tent, 

Knowing not did this honor deserve, 
At command the long ranks brought their arms to 
"present" 

Due all those who their country best serve. 

Of those that were present were many that day 

Who now envied this three months' recruit, 
To have been in his shoes would havejser ved without 
pay, 
For "The Silent" had earned their salute. 

.59 



60 JEAN RIVARD 

By the General standing was also his aide, 
What he held could by few be possessed, 

The small shining quadrant which he there displayed 
Was more envied than title or crest. 



John had come to a halt, at attention there stood 

And saluted the one in command, 
Until spoke the General, had wondered who would 

Wear the cross that now lay in his hand. 
"To LIEUTENANT Revor, who as soldier has shown 

"That the ranks cannot well spare this loss, 
"This commission is granted for merit alone, 

"For bravery, is given the cross.' ' 

John was taken aback, his commission had won, 

And the coveted great "Croix de Guerre" 
Since he as a soldier plain duty had done, 

Both the cross and the bars could he wear. 
But his wits soon returned, as a thought chilled his 
heart, 

He could not there remain as before, 
As an officer soon from his Phillip would part. 

Answered John to him who ranked the Corps, 

"The high honor conferred is refused with respect, 

"For I crave neither glory nor fame, 
"This great offer is one that I should not accept, 
"As no officer's rank do I claim. 



JEAN RIVARD 61 

"But I make this request, in the ranks to remain, 
"Where had well served the Hindu, the brave, 

"The sword he once held, allow me to retain, 
"Which he, passing out, to me gave." 

As the General's keen eye John closely did scan, 

It seemed he had seen him before, 
This soldier who spurned the greatest honor to man, 

To some one a strong likeness bore. 
Since there happened each day many things more than 
strange, 

For the present would grant his request, 
On the morrow, perhaps, this man's mind he could 
change, 

He then pinned the small cross to John's breast. 

From the locker in which it had been safely stored, 

John took out the dead Hindu's keen blade, 
By the length of his arm he now measured the sword, 

Grasped it firm where the stone was inlaid. 
And it made a queer hiss as it cut through the air, 

Music sweet was this song without word, 
In its high-pitched refrain did a strange message bear, 

To its rhythm John practised the sword. 

End of Part Eight 



JEAN RIVARD 



PART NINE 

9 Tis reveille, and another day 
What Jean heard in the trenches 
Jean with Phillip in the hospital 



JEAN RIVARD 



"lis reveille, and another day, 

But no bugle blast is heard, 
The men are roused in a safer way, 

By touch and shake and whispered word. 
An order is now passed around, 

"Send up reserves without delay," 
And the drowsy lads on the rain-soaked ground, 

Prepare themselves for another day, 
'Tis reveille, and another day. 

'Tis the hour of noon but no halt is made, 

There's no limit to what these men can stand, 
Too long already had been delayed 

By the gluey mud of Flanders' land. 
They gritted their teeth as they shifted their pack 

With but one thought, to each mind clear, 
That no power on earth could hold them back 

Till they'd make the Hun pay doubly dear 
Before reveille of another day. 

The sun has set, and the tired band 
Had exacted the toll, most dearly paid, 

And they rest on their guns on the slimy land, 
Of nothing that walks, nor of the Devil afraid. 

For they held their own in this Hell's affray, 

65 



66 JEAN RIVARD 

As the enemy fled there was one long shout, 
(Score this as the end of a perfect day) 

"Taps have sounded, your damned lights will be out 
"Before reveille of anotherday." 

'Tis reveille, of another day, 

And the roll call is now heard, 
There's Tom, and Jack, but Bill's away, 

There comes no answering word. 
The sergeant paused as he looked around, 

Then slowly read to the end of the list, 
There were many who slept on the blood-soaked ground, 

Leaving those who the touch of their elbow missed 
At reveille, of another day. 

Now John by this time had grown calloused and hard, 

Did suffering and pain with indifference regard, 

In the loss of his friend, and from Phillip estranged, 

John's once simple nature had been greatly changed. 

Each day in the trench was there one item more 

Making still larger the already long score. 

When the time came for settling, he would fulljpayment 

ask, 
What laid in his locker, 
Would make easy the task. 

The small daily bickerings John seemed not to hear, 
To this idle talk deaf, but he had a quick ear 
For the tales that were true, yet most hard to believe, 
Only Huns, Hell-inspired, 



JEAN RIVARD 67 

Crimes so base could conceive. 

Of the babes that were found piled up high in a heap, 

Who had cried for their milk till kind death brought them 

sleep, 
The children they'd killed on the way to their school, 
And the horrors that changed 
The bright lad to a fool. 



Of young virgins compelled by the bayonet thrust 

To choose either death, or submit to their lust, 

The infirm, sick, and aged, that were forced by the guns 

To march well in advance of the cowardly Huns. 

Made drunk from babes' blood and insane in their hate, 

More than this had they done, deeds too foul to relate. 

Led on by their master, who did each carnage plan, 

And was Satan, himself, in the guise of a man. 



Of the red-handed Huns, in the trench it was said, 

Had been hatched in the slimes of pools stagnant and 

dead, 
Then with torch lit in Hades, and held waving high 
Were they belched from the pits of their own infamy. 
More foul than the scum from the cauldrons of Hell, 
But one thing to their credit, 
THEY DID THEIR WORK WELL. 
John heard all they said, in his brain was it stored, 
He then opened his locker, 
And began whetting his sword. 



68 JEAN RIVARD 

What John long had suppressed, now could hardly 

restrain, 
As he whetted, then polished, now whetted again, 
For each spot he removed, there was added a curse 
That the sulphurous lake would their black souls im- 
merse, 
In fires eternal might their bodies be thrust, 
Their tongues become parched, and caked over with 

dust. 
They would then crave for what the poor babes had 

implored, 
It was not the old Jean 
Who was whetting the sword. 

It so happened one day, that a fragment of shell, 
With a force but half spent, into Phillip's trench fell, 
And but for his helmet which its course did deflect, 
Would have torn down a structure that no man could 

erect. 
John sprang to his lad and the helmet removed 
To search for the wound; on the temple was grooved 
The path of the shell that had just missed the brain, 
A small inch had divided 
The quick from the slain. 

To the base hospital, far removed to the rear, 
Many miles from the front where no wounded could hear 
The screams of the shells as they burned through the air, 
Did the ambulance filled, o'er the roads swiftly tear. 



JEAN RIVARD 69 

For John, though not wounded, had with Phillip re- 
mained, 

He held his lad's hand, and the tears unrestrained 

Could not dim the bright light that from John's eyes now 
shone, 

After many long months, 

He was holding his own. 

As the surgeon in charge now examined the wound 
He looked grave and concerned when quickly he found 
The skull badly fractured, must at once be trephined, 
It was the last resort which might save the lad's mind. 
With hand quick and firm, such as this case required, 
Was for him just the one that he long had desired. 
When John asked to remain, to the Chief was referred, 
John belonged to the trench, 
And trained men were preferred. 



John presented himself to the Surgeon-in-Chief, 
Whose force, near exhausted, was demanding relief, 
Of him asked, as a nurse, if he could be assigned 
To the hospital tent where a friend was confined. 
As the overworked Chief, by emergency pressed, 
Could not then better do, granted John his request. 
At once wrote an order by which John was retained, 
A small lie John had told, 
But his object was gained. 

In this race against Time, with a life for the goal, 

In this fight for a mind which might yet be made whole, 



•70 JEAN RIVARD 

In this battle, in which Phillip then had no share, 
Over all was the Victor, who had laid the brain bare. 
'Gainst the scythe, bright and keen, was science then 

pitted, 
But knife and scalpel, the Grim Reaper outwitted. 
All he needed was care, for full well had they learned 
That the scale of the balance 
By a hair might be turned. 



The surgeons were pleased that on this man could depend 
As they closely watched John who did Phillip attend, 
Bathed his face, sponged his lips, smoothed the thick 

tangled hair, 
Stayed the hand that in frenzy tried the bandage to 

tear, 
Turned the pillows o'er and o'er, 'neath the fever-burned 

head, 
Spread the sheets, changed the pads, re-arranged the 

hard bed, 
Once before for his babe, John had long vigils kept, 
Once again there were days 
When he ate not nor slept. 



Phillip tossed on his bed, through his brain madly raced 
All his life's petty trifles which had long been effaced. 
Of his first day at school and the quaint little maid 
Who his apples had shared as they barefooted played. 
Then it was of the one who had stood at the gate, 



JEAN RIVARD 71 

And like all mothers worried when her boy returned late. 
Then he spoke of one near whom his eyes did not know, 
Who to him had been all 
In the long, long ago. 

As John his hand passing o'er the lad's fevered brow 
Ceased were the long ramblings, it seemed as if now 
Over him was change coming, for a moment was still, 
"The hand of my father," had these words tried to fill 
The empty heart aching for this message of cheer. 
But it was transient only, soon again did John hear 
The mad cries and ravings of a shell-battered brain, 
With flood gates well open, 
Could nothing remain. 

When John heard these few words, he that moment forgot 
He was tied more secure than a Gordian knot. 
Without further delay, his true self would disclose 
To his lad, who exhausted, had now sunk in repose. 
Then John felt a touch, quickly turned was his head, 
There stood one which caused John to move nearer the 

bed. 
John well recollected, from his lips came a curse, 
Such as none in the trenches 
Had ever heard worse. 

At the impotent words the Stranger then laughed, 

And remarked, "You shall now drink a most bitter 

draught, 
"Think but for a second and your mind soon will change, 



n JEAN RIVARD 

"In the compact you signed, did my plans well arrange, 
"For the instant you call the sick lad there your son, 
"To your own lonely cottage has your journey begun." 
With right hand to left side, John another curse roared, 
He had left in his locker 
The Crusader sword. 

But all things have an end, the time came when again 
Were there no clouds hanging over Phillip's worn brain. 
In his eyes there was absent the cold vacant stare, 
And the surgeon well knew it was due to John's care. 
Did not know then that in the sick lad and the man 
From their hearts through their veins, the same blood 

freely ran. 
Though the skill he had shown had brought well-deserved 

fame, 
This passed on to him 
Who had much better claim. 

Phillip now wore the bars of the next higher grade, 
At the General's request had a captain been made, 
With his men, waited orders near a spot God-forsaken 
Which had often changed hands, by the Huns last re- 
taken. 
Like a hound at the leash, he did now fret and chafe, 
To get back at the Huns with their damnable "Strafe." 
And the locker John used had been robbed of its hoard, 
Where John ate, walked, or slept, was the Crusader 
sword. 



JEAN RIVARD 73 

That of which John had dreamed, at last had come true, 

He now soon would collect the bill long overdue, 

For the great General's mind which appeared to know all 

Phillip's feat with the mines did this moment recall. 

As he placed him in charge more than thrice his command 

To drive back the Hell-spawned o'er their blood-sodden 

land. 
Phillip wondered why John, while all the rest cheered, 
Had alone remained silent and abstracted appeared. 
John was then thinking how his friend's last words had 

ended, 
"From proud father to son the great sword had des- 
cended." 
What would be, could not change, even had he so willed, 
Perhaps that day would see the tradition fulfilled. 

End of Part Nine 



JEAN RIVARD 



PART TEN 

Just a Slip of a Lad 

The Great Battle 

Jean, Phillip and the Devil 

The Duel between Phillip and the Devil 

Death of Jean 



JEAN RIVARD 



Just a slip of a lad, 

As he marched his men towards "No Man's Land." 
Tall, bearded men who had been there before, 
Who had jested with Death in Hell's abode. 
For the trenches were such as tried men's souls, 
And their hearts went out to their leader pale, 
Who had stood on the brink of the yawning grave, 
Hardly fit for the task 
Was this slip of a lad. 

Just a slip of a lad, 

In the cold wet trenches of "No Man's Land." 
No sound is now heard but the shrieking shells 
As they burst and scatter their murderous hail. 
Bronzed faces blanch, for they've been there before, 
And the ribald jest is that morning unheard. 
For the jaws of Hell are opened wide, 
And are waiting to snap 
At this slip of a lad. 

Just a slip of a lad 

As he formed his men for the coming charge 
And counted those off with the hand-grenades. 
Detailing each man to the place he best fitted, 

77 



78 JEAN RIVARD 

Well every man knew what of him was expected. 
Nearly all of them had in a like place been before, 
There was no man but thought this day might his last be 
Much there now does depend 
On their slip of a lad. 



Just a slip of a lad, 

As he made his last round, and looked in each eye. 

Unwavering they stood with their cold shining steel, 

Held by arms that had never been shaken by fear. 

'Tis a place where quick brain against tall stature wins, 

'Tis a time when a man in an hour grows old, 

'Tis a day when the life of a nation's at stake, 

Now had come the great moment 

For this slip ol a lad. 



"Follow me," Phillip cried, as he led the attack, 

"We are here," answered they, who now stood at his 

back. 
Then as John cleared the top, from his lips came a yell, 
That was heard 'bove the voice of the rifle or shell. 
Which he did oft repeat 

In that hand to hand fray, 
Drowned the call for retreat 

When their best on ground lay, 
Saved them all from defeat 
On that memorable day. 



JEAN RIVARD 79 

Like an Argus-eyed Samson, guarding Phillip, his son, 
John was Athos, and Porthos, and Aramis in one. 
In John's reincarnation, 
Of some long dead relation, 
Was embodied the spirit of Joan of Arc's nation. 
For John, true American, from the French had des- 
cended, 
And in Phillip, his lad, was the Allied blood blended. 



Flame-spitting, 

Brain-hitting, was his gun, Huns quick dropping, 

Blood-spilling, 

Swift-killing, was his sword, Huns quick stopping. 

Death-daring, 

None-sparing, an Apollyon advancing, 

Yell-hearing, 

Death-fearing, backed the Huns, faces blanching. 



Thrusting hard for his heart at one time there were 

four, 
But he stepped o'er them all, none there could hold 

before 
The dead weight of his gun, or the Crusader sword, 
As he struck, 

as he stabbed, 

as he slashed, 

as he bored. 



80 JEAN RIVARD 

By the bayonet unbending, 

Or the butt end descending, 

To where they belonged, now was John the Huns sending. 

With the sword in his left, 

And the gun in his right, 
Fought he as only one 

Damned eternal would fight. 

Back to back to his Phillip, as the two stood at bay, 

John had singled a Hun slowly working his way 

To get next to his lad, and then from John's tongue 

Came a torrent unchecked of the mind now unstrung. 

"Take from me, John Revor, 

What to you, ends the war," 

John yelled, as he thrust, and so sure was the aim 

That the Hun backward fell where he lay with the slain. 

By the new broken bayonet, firmly pinned to the ground, 

From the Babe-killer's lips came a guttural sound 

Which was borne to John's ears 

Through the din of the battle, 

Not for long had John waited 

For the well-known death-rattle. 

Was awakened at last 

The long sleeping volcano, 
Levelling all in its blast, 

The wide sweeping tornado. 
The gun irresistible, 
The long sword invincible, 
Ear-piercing, far-reaching, 



JEAN RIVARD 81 

The yell, more than terrible, 

With the butt of his rifle, which was now soaked in blood, 
Cracked the skulls open wide, with a sickening thud, 
John heard not their cries as he over them trod, 
War-demented, 
Heaven-watched, 
Not forgotten by God. 

By their brave John inspired, the outnumbered band 
Pushed the Hell-vermin back o'er their corpse-rotting 
land. 



Crimson red, was the ground 

Thickly strewn with grey Huns, 
Only dead were there found 

Near their now silent guns. 
This great battle, in which blood like water did flow, 
This dearly won battle, 
This sword and gun battle, 
Was THE battle by which John Revor was laid low. 



On the shell-burrowed field, near the noon of that day, 
By the flying shrapnel, John Revor wounded lay. 
The brave ambulance corps 

In this carnage appalling, 
Had a short time before 

Passed to those for aid calling. 
John remembered not them, either war, sword, or gun, 



m JEAN RIVARD 

All alike were to him, whether Allied or Hun. 
Forgotten, had he, as to why he there laid, 
But he then well recalled 
HIM to whom he once prayed. 

"Oh, God," cried poor John, "grant me now this small 

boon, 
"As I was when he left, let me speak to my son." 
Ere the words left his lips, when as though from the air, 
The soul-cry expecting, the Stranger stood there. 
"Call you not upon God, do not try to defy, 
"It's a name that's forbidden while yet I stand by. 
"For the compact we made will be ended this day, 
"The debt is now due, 
"And with interest you'll pay." 

It must have been pity, better yet, might have been 
That the ONE who knows all had this meeting foreseen, 
Wished to curb Satan's pride, and thus teach him his 

place. 
Of this none did there know, but over John's face 
Came quickly a change, and his hair, black as night, 
In that moment was turned to a silvery white, 
And there on the ground lay the brave JEAN RIVARD, 
Instead of an Angel 
The Devil on guard. 

Jean the Devil ignored, and the word he forbade 

Was shrieked, "Oh, my God, send me Phillip, my lad." 

Phillip seemed as one dazed, as the name reached his ear, 



JEAN RIVARD 83 

Was in doubt if the battle had left his mind clear. 
From his father had come this loud wail of distress 
That was torn from the heart in its greatest duress. 
With a leap cleared the trench as his sword he held bare, 
Would have jumped into Hell 
Had the call come from there. 



O'er the brave Jean Rivard, a Stranger there stood, 
With a look on his face that foreboded no good, 
Where should have been pity, now instead was a leer, 
And his thin cruel lips were incurved with a sneer. 
Who stepped forward a pace as he made a half turn, 
So that Phillip, advancing, would not quickly discern 
That the man lying there was the one that had cried 
To his God, for his Phillip, 
And the Devil defied. 



Phillip gripped firm his sword, the words came hard and 

fast, 
"How have you without uniform the double guard passed? 
"There are base traitors here, and I swear to my God, 
"Soon with you will they stand 'fore the sure-firing 

squad. 
"If my surmise is correct 

"You are naught but a spy, 
"Give today's countersign 

"Or you will like a dog die." 



84 JEAN RIVARD 

"You that here doth command, now your anger restrain, 
"For this man that's near death can better explain 
"Why I should here stand without arms or war garb, 
"In my tongue is my sword, and most keen is its barb. 
"I no countersign have, and none do I need, 
"No guards, locks, or bars, can my movements impede. 
"So blame not the sentry, in your judgment be slow, 
"There were none saw me come, 
"There will none see me go." 



With a feeling unknown, much akin to dismay, 
In an instant was Phillip, where the wounded man lay, 
He well knew the form, with the silver crowned head, 
The hand, that so carefully his first steps had led, 
The plain honest face, with the lines creased by care, 
Only one, could it be, who at Death now does stare. 
Quickly there Phillip knelt, upraised then Jean's head, 
Listened close to his lips 
For the words faintly said. 



"Embrace me, dear son, and my hand tightly clasp, 
"Oh, press harder yet, that I may feel the grasp 
"Of your warm loving hands, and I now will lay bare 
"The deed that was done while in greatest despair. 
"Know then, my dear lad, when your mother we lost 
"And by faith alone buoyed, she the dark river crossed, 
"Was there taken from us to replace which were none, 
"Left to me to well finish that which she had begun. 



JEAN RIVARD 85 

"From the day of your birth had the dear heart desired, 
"Capped and gowned of your college, would she see you 

attired, 
"Ever guided by her who had gone on before, 
"Of what I then tried, there were none could do more. 
"Then as older, and taller, and stronger you grew, 
"And unconscious released what was latent in you, 
"Although long seemed the road, yet I well saw the end, 
"You some day would preside where you once did attend. 

"When in years came The War, and you held fast my 

hand, 
"Perhaps for the last, ere you sailed for the land 
"To which many had gone, from which few might return, 
"The blood froze in my veins, it was then I did learn 
"You were all of my life, and my God soon defied, 
"With Satan then bargained, so could fight by your side. 
"Was by him changed in form, as well as in name, 
"But my mind and my heart remained ever the same. 
"In one thing am content, knowing well as we part, 
"That some day, you again will be near the dear heart, 
"Say to her, my brave lad, that in his last distress, 
"Her Jean thought of but three, 
"God, Phillip, and Jess." 

Jean's breath came in gasps, and his hands now were 

cold, 
In the glaze of the eyes there was plainly foretold 
That the end now was near, which might yet be delayed, 
For Phillip while kneeling, had silently prayed 



86 JEAN RIVARD 

That for but one short hour 
Might the end be deferred, 

By his sword then would cancel the debt Jean had in- 
curred. 
Phillip sobbed like a child as a tear unchecked ran 
Down the cheek, once of Jean, 
But now, Superman. 



Phillip pulled off his coat and a soft pillow made, 

His dear father's head thereon tenderly laid, 

And then turned to the Devil, who patiently stood 

Awaiting Jean's death, soon to be, when he could 

With his treasure depart, 

For a trophy so rare 

Was well worth the while, many hours could he spare. 

Of the souls that he'd snared, now engulfed in his mire, 

They were naught to the one that he soon would acquire. 



'Round the world's greatest girth, or from far pole to 

pole, 
'You will search long in vain for another such soul, 
'For this man at my feet whose hard race is near run, 
'There's no greater honor than to be known as his son. 
' 'Twas for me that he made this Supreme Sacrifice, 
'A gold crown he should wear in God's bright Paradise. 
'As his son, and a soldier, this challenge I make, 
We will fight to the death, and should our swords break, 



JEAN RIVARD 87 

"Then to pistols we'll turn, and may God hold my hand 
"To direct well my aim, for you'll die where you stand. 
"My soul is the forfeit, if the battle you've won, 
"If not, both go free, it is two souls or none." 



Satan pondered a moment, then answered " 'Tis well, 
"Both you and your father will sojourn in Hell, 
"Yonder soul is my own, none can now cheat my due, 
"I came for one only, I shall go back with two. 
"Leave your blade where 'tis sheathed, for you surely 

will die, 
"In the art of the sword, the world's master am I. 
"It's not often to foolish diversions I bend, 
"But my time's well repaid if so by I can send 
"An unwilling soul to my regions below, 
"To languish eternal in unutterable woe, 
"Draw then if you will, let us brook no delay, 
"Those who my time consume, in the end fully pay." 



With a nonchalant air, he picked up from the ground 
What had once graced the hand of a monarch uncrowned. 
No novice is he, bending back the long blade 
Of what was well said, no apprentice had made. 
This pastime well relished, for unknown to the lad 
His heart safely guarding, was in mail partly clad. 
For Satan, as Man, when he roams o'er the land, 
Not IMMORTAL is he, does with Man equal stand. 



88 JEAN RIVARD 

(For the Ever- just God long ago did ordain 
That he no advantage over man would obtain. 
In that Satan when he did a Man's form assume, 
Like Man, suffered pain, was from death not immune. 
All who on earth walked, was there no one exempted, 
To Satan himself was no privilege extended. 
That must HE over Satan a strong rein ever hold, 
Unbridled, would Satan the whole world have controlled.) 



Answered Phillip, "The sword by your hand desecrated 
"Will not turn 'gainst the one soon to die consecrated. 
"Should my trusted sword break, and cannot my heart 

shield, 
"Or the bullet flies wild, even then will not yield 
"Till my blood soaks the sand where my dear father lies, 
"On the hard bed from which he will never arise. 
"For his son did a father place himself in your power, 
"By his son be released, this now is MY hour." 



Replied Satan to Phillip, as with uplifted hand, 
He waved toward the one who there laid on the sand, 
"By the powers I hold, which are quite well defined, 
"To my presence do oft make the seeing world blind. 
"Which I now will extend, so to cover we three, 
"On this small plot of ground shall no strange witness be. 
"From your men in the trench must ourselves well con- 
ceal, 
"They would rush to your aid at the first clash of steel. 



JEAN RIVARD 89 

"Except to your father, who there wounded lies, 
"Invisible are we to all mortal eyes. 
"Your name have I added to my already long roll, 
"On guard then, you fool, and to Hell with your soul." 



Eye to eye, 
Sword to sword, 
The strange combat begins, 

A pale, beardless youth 'gainst the Monarch of Sins. 
But not so unequal as at first would appear, 
Phillip's fame with the sword was well known far and 
near. 

With the right or the left, he was equally skilled, 
Either arm full controlled, 

He could do as he willed. 



Blow for blow, 

Steel to steel, 

Neither vantage could gain, 

The odds appeared even, it was brain against brain. 

They now fight for position, and each vainly tries 

To well hold the sun's glare in his opponent's eyes. 

As the thrusts and the parries 'tween the two swiftly 

passed. 
Phillip thought of the hour that was then waning fast, 

No sooner had Phillip a new feint or pass tried, 
But each, Satan countered, 

Phillip's sword turned aside. 



90 JEAN RIVARD 

Step by step, 

Blade to blade, 

The small circle they raced, 

Now forward, then back, with no telling blow placed, 

Then Satan, impatient at the time being lost, 

By one blow strove to break the sword his had crossed. 

Like a bolt, Phillip then through the open guard tierced 

With aim that, unerring, would have Satan's heart 

pierced. 
The point glanced with a shock that his fingers could 

feel, 
Phillip finds out at last 
That his foe's clad in steel. 



Phillip then knew the hand that he had to contend, 

Also knew that two souls on his sword did depend, 

But had been placed before where his quick wits had won, 

In a second, side-stepped, by the unclouded sun 

Were Satan's eyes dimmed. 

Phillip struck fast and hard, 

By his favorite feint he broke down the guard, 

And lunged for the eyes, so fierce was the thrust, 

As Satan reeled backward, 

His head struck the dust. 

With the roar of a lion, that has long been enchained, 
Before Phillip could move, had his feet well regained, 
Phillip's aim had been good, but it landed too high, 
There was now a wide gash just above Satan's eye. 






JEAN RIVARD 91 

Chagrined by the thought that a new-to-war lad, 

Had drawn the first blood, 

Satan sent all he had. 

Ever coming, his sword did before Phillip play, 

Phillip still kept his guard, 

But he slowly gave way. 

Poor Phillip, brave lad, was now sorely pressed, 

He was fighting THE MASTER, and craved for a rest, 

If but for a second, a short respite obtained, 

For his fingers were numb and his muscles were strained. 

In drops of blood sweated, 

Which slowly did drip 

To the hilt of his sword, and thus loosened his grip 

As he shifted to left, and again to the right, 

Awaiting the time 

He could thrust with his might. 

As he thought of his father, facing Death, undismayed, 

Of the Great Sacrifice he'd unselfishly made, 

Came a lump in his throat, and a tear then did fall, 

He only was human, 

And a lad, after all. 

Then as though doomed by fate, o'er a sword belt he 

tripped 
Which had half buried lain, unguarded he slipped 
With one knee to the ground, with his life soon would 

part, 
Could not ward off the steel 
That was aimed at his heart. 



92 JEAN RIVARD 

As Jean's fast closing eyes saw his Phillip outdone, 

Near expiring, he cried 

"Oh, God, save my son." 

At the sacred word, "God," 

Satan startled did glance for a second at Jean, 

AND THE LAD SAW HIS CHANCE. 

With a strength newly born, and both hands to the sword, 

His knee then unbent, 

Like a flash, upward gored. 

With his heart cut in two, Satan backward was thrown, 

He had lost the two souls, 

Back to Hell went alone. 

Leaving sword where 'twas thrust, then to Jean, Phillip 

ran, 
It was just one half hour since the combat began. 
And the last words that passed between father and son, 
Were these simple four, 
"My Phillip, well done." 

Then from Jean's tired heart golden mist did arise, 
Which shaped like a crown 
As it mounted the skies. 

Jean's soul, battle-purged, has received its reward, 
Re-united now with the dear heart, near his Lord. 

Where had been Satan lying, the ground now was bare, 
The sword belt excepting, Phillip saw nothing there 
Save only "The Two" which had made their last thrust, 
Jean's red and dented, Phillip's eaten with rust. 
And the Crusader's sword, held by him who was mailed, 



JEAN RIVARD 93 

For the first time since forged 

In its mission had failed, 

Seemed to know that the hand which had guided the 

blade, 
Was the HAND that had TORN 
Treaties carefully made. 

Reposed now is Jean's soul in his God's starry world, 

By one word, had been kept from to Hell being hurled, 

And Phillip, who'd bravely tried his father to save, 

Was in turn saved by Jean from an untimely grave. 

No free agent was Jean when he mortgaged his soul, 

Over that to him given, then had he no control. 

But God, who rules all, had made the decree 

That in this, Satan's power would limited be. 

Though at times he aspires to absolute reign, 

To his Master Supreme must a servant remain. 

The mind war-deranged, God had fully restored, 

So that Jean, if repentant, might speak The Great Word. 

Recorded not against him things in ignorance done, 

Expects not that of Man found in Angels alone. 

Not for Him to destroy what Himself had created, 

Opened He wide the door to the pilgrim belated. 

In the Book were the names, in letters of gold 

Of those who had strayed, but returned to the fold, 

The Recording Angel had inscribed with his pen 

The words "Jean Rivard, unlike other men." 

The End 



